Decadence
by taranoire
Summary: Roy and Ed are in a happy, if unhealthy, relationship. They feel safe for the first time in years. Unfortunately, there is a threat on the horizon they did not anticipate, and Ed is forced into a role he cannot escape. Roy/Ed, Hakuro/Ed, gift/darkfic
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: **Smut, abuse, squick, gratuitous sadistic situations, violence, gore, threat, implied minor character death, dubious consent, rape, and a male OC.

**Pairings: **Roy/Ed, Hakuro/Ed, Roy/others

**Note: **This is a belated gift for Torean, something she was working on herself before real life got in the way. She requested I take over. :) It's extremely dark and heavy-handed, so please make sure you take the warnings to heart. As is usual with my gift-fics, expect it to be completed in three parts.

Un-betaed for now. I have one, but she's super busy. If anyone reading this would be willing to give it a shot, contact me.

* * *

><p>Maes Hughes walked along the edge of the rotting cornfield while gray, chopped stalks crunched beneath his feet. Floodlights bathed the grim atmosphere in white, highlighting the drizzle while alternating black-and-blue uniforms marched in file, hoping to look important despite their decidedly boring task of supervising the scene. Photographs had already been taken, and plastic had been placed over tree limbs to protect the corpse from the rain.<p>

The lines between civilian and military police often blurred, and while they didn't get along, that same animosity spurred them in creative directions as a way to one-up the other. It was a game to them, but it meant work output exceeded expectations.

"What have we got?" he said when he reached the heart of the copse. It was grim, the putrid stink of rain and mud dripping down to soak into thatch.

A small, dark, and humanoid lump lay beneath the scrutiny of a pathologist's tools. On further study Maes discerned the crescent slits of closed eyelids, the gaping hole of a mouth. The flesh was thin and layered with fermentation moistened by the rain. Bones poked through discolored skin, teeth dripping fungus like the anti-tobacco advertisements scattered in the suburbs. Strands of coarse hair crept through the skull. It was a decomposing human body, probably deposited there weeks earlier.

"Can't say. I don't even know if it's male or female," the woman said, her voice clipped and to the point. She was from the police department, and like others associated with the civilian branch, did not show any respect to high-ranking military officers beyond what was necessary. The police thought the military was all bravado, no stick; the military suspected the police were a net of carrot and coercion. "Probably older than twelve though, given the size. Rough estimation is maybe fifteen, sixteen years old."

"Murder or accident?" Maes asked, his mouth a firm line. He had seen many incidents involving children and adolescents, but that didn't stop the instinctual burst of fury at discovering their corpses. He was not sure what kind of viral strain, what mental poison, drove men to victimize the most vulnerable.

"No injuries that I can figure, if any," she said. "No skull fractures, no broken bones, no wounds or lacerations. I'll have to look at it more closely, of course, but so far I'd wager this was just a freak accident."

"Odd that no one's reported them missing," he mused. "Lot of accidental deaths lately." He rubbed his chin, kicking a stray pebble in the muck. The cornfield was located in a rural part of Central, just a mile away from where the three-story complexes tapered off into small businesses and townhouses. For about three months, they had been getting their usual amount of impulse murders and child kidnappings, but these mystery deaths were more perturbing. So far, the total was four.

"Clothing?"

"No," the woman said. She shook her head, wiping the sweat off her brow with a gloved and mud-spattered hand. Thunder roiled in the strangled roots of the forest. "No trace of clothing, jewelry, tags. It's another nobody."

He had seen killers who took the clothes of their victims, the little pieces, to keep the cops from identifying them too swiftly. DNA testing was in its early stages, aided by small alchemical reactions, but investigators rarely ever got an idea of their victim's genetic make-up. Maybe someday, but for now that scientific crap had to be forfeited in the name of logic and eyewitness accounts.

"I'll make some calls to other departments. See if anyone around that age has gone missing in the death frame." He knew he wouldn't find anyone. The victims never matched the descriptions of missing persons. For all intents and purposes, the kids had no identities, and no one was looking for them. He didn't understand how a person could live and die without attracting any attention until the flies buzzed a little too loud.

"Lotta runaways in this city, major," a cop said, shining a flashlight in the muck. Footprints had long been washed away, and a layer of grass and debris covered the remnants. "Granted, most of 'em will head out across the border, but it looks like this one died trying."

"Even if a hundred pairs of parents show up at headquarters, we're that much closer to burying this kid with a name. I think they deserve that, whoever they are." He looked around at the ramshackle cornfield, the smoke of chimneys in a village further up the road. "I don't like this. Dead kids, no identities, stripped of everything they are, no discernible cause of death. You think they're foreigners?"

"Maybe it's a pandemic, a virus we don't have the ability to detect," the woman offered.

"Viral strains don't tend to remove the victims' clothing."

"Biological murder, then. Don't you remember? In intermediate school, the teachers used to make such a fuss about the war methods used by the Ishballans. Flinging bodies over fortress walls. That sort of thing." She made an apathetic show of fondling the victim between the legs, her rubber gloves streaked with toxic fluids as they leaked from internal cavities. It would have been grotesque if not for the vital nature of identification. "Female, Major Hughes."

* * *

><p>He didn't recall the taut darkness of the Gate's arms, pressed against his form as if to claim him intimately. People scoffed when they heard the alchemist of the people had trouble sleeping without a night light, but his nightmares were not mere caricatures of the nocturnal. Arbitrary power ripping him apart, hearing it <em>groan<em> as it devoured him. That was not a silly fear. They couldn't comprehend how dark his dreams could be.

Bright light filtered through the blinds and lay on the opposite wall like slivers of off-white paint. The air was cold where it touched his skin above the thick comforter he shared. To keep his automail from aching, he curled closer to the body that had become as familiar as the sun rising, and just as warm.

He supposed he should be paranoid about the idea that he was in a very covert and very illegal relationship with Roy Mustang, a man fifteen years his senior. But he didn't. He felt as if they could continue on the way they did forever, avoiding each other during office hours and screwing in seclusion, strangers to everything but touch. Who would have thought that all those years were a matter of sexual tension?

Their mockery of a courtship began when the rain came, about a month ago. Dante lay dead on a ballroom floor. The homunculus Envy had been defeated, purged of the world forever. Alphonse had been restored, golden and alive, his hormones attuned to Winry's undeniable attributes. And Edward had begun to notice that his colonel, that brilliant but _idiotic _and infuriating symbol of everything he wanted, was returning wanton stares.

So Ed, being naturally impulsive, lured him in. Three shots of whiskey, fragrant spring rain, and the seclusion of an alleyway. Marks on his neck. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that he owned Roy Mustang - not yet. There was no leash on his master. But he had staked his claim, and was marked in return. For the first time in his life he was wanted.

Ed stared at the back of Roy's head, the well-kept dark locks with a scent like burned oak chips. There were moments, like this, where tenderness took the place of frustrated desire, but they were fleeting and quiet. Neither of their lives had been crafted for the purposes of fate, or romance, or lofty fairytale endings. There was no point in pretending they could ever be what normal people were.

Roy's eyes, beautiful, obscure, and blue like the bottom of the sea, were pouring into his. Ed remembered the way they'd looked last night, a juxtaposition of dark and emblazoned as Ed did things to him he'd only read about in those wallflower bookstores dotting Central.

"Morning," the blond muttered, leaving out the 'good' that usually preceded the word 'morning.' Somehow, because of all that could happen to the two of them (assassination, arrest, being hit by a bus), he was afraid to jinx anything. And he was right to do it.

Roy groaned at the implications of a workday, but the sound didn't match his smile or the way he easily whispered in return. Ed liked the way he laughed: a raspy, tired sound. "You sleep well? Didn't feel you squirming or kicking me in the back."

"I don't think I even dreamed," Ed said, letting him see one of his rare smiles. He breathed a sigh and settled his head in the warmth beneath Roy's chin, where he could more readily inhale his choice in drug. "No nightmares at all."

"Glad to know that," Roy murmured in his hair, kissing spun gold.

They took turns being submissive; trusted each other enough, not only to protect from enemy fire, but to lay themselves open in moments of need. It went without saying that the Fullmetal and Flame were equals intellectually, emotionally and physically. No one else knew the depth of those waters, didn't know that they could also be a toxic mix of dangerous and compliant. Roy and Ed liked to know their choice in partner could kill them in a heartbeat.

It was comforting.

Ed removed himself from the embrace and kissed him, closing his eyes, losing himself to the familiar touch of warm lips. Roy let him dominate it for the most part, continuing the trend of the previous night, the contrast of metal and flesh legs moving to straddle his wider hips. He groaned a little, hands on the blond's waist to keep him steady and things from going too far too early in the morning. Pleasure was one thing, but propriety was another.

Ed never liked leaving things unfinished. He liked pressing his lips to the hollow of the man's throat, nipping and sucking so light that he was barely there. He liked to have both hands under Roy's cotton pajama shirt, stroking the toned body beneath. He liked to drag himself along, slow, so that they brushed each other's sex, the stirrings of desire kindling a fire that could stun them both awake. He liked making Roy _happy. _

"You like that?" he said, low and deep and dark.

"Fuck if I don't," Roy said, breathless and struggling with the obligations of his humanity and his dignity, "but I can't. And you're an ass." He grasped Ed by the forearms and pushed him onto his respective side of the bed, whining under his breath as he did it.

The blond rolled his eyes. "Piece of shit. Go get your clothes on or I'll rip you a new one."

"Your emotions are impossible to predict."

Edward made an indecent gesture at him, and then went to his overstuffed duffel bag in the corner. He frowned as he looked at it, because it symbolized his reluctance to commit to this, whatever this was. Sure, it had only been a month, and he definitely didn't own any permanent space here - he could be thrown away like the mail. But now that Alphonse was in Resembool, and seeing as Roy needed the company, he didn't see any reason _not_ to stick around.

If Roy asked it of him, he would stay forever.

A quarter-hour passed, and Roy stepped out of the bathroom, uniform sticking to his recently washed body and his hair wet and unkempt. Ed tried to smooth it back, but the man swatted his hands away, growling that he could do it himself. That was one thing Ed wasn't too keen on. His choice in lover was moody, and hated to be touched casually. If it wasn't sex, he wasn't interested.

He sighed as Roy took his customary place in front of the bedroom mirror to rake a comb through dark hair. The man looked at his reflection, and then frowned.

"The hell are you wearing?" Roy asked, a bitter, cautious note in his voice.

Ed looked down, confused by the accusatory nature of the question. "Clothes? What are _you_ wearing?"

"_I'm_ wearing a uniform," Roy answered, ignoring the rhetoric. He dropped the comb in a rush, and grabbed a bottle of gel tucked inside the bureau drawer. "It's not within my power to change it. You, however, have every right to choose what you can wear, which is why it's odd that you're wearing _that._"

Ed blinked, struggling to understand just why his attire had captured Mustang's attention in any shape or form. Roy never noticed aesthetic stuff like that. He could be in a suit and smelling like roses or barreling into the office covered in mud, and the man would give him the same dark, concentrated look, stifling his true feelings. It wasn't like the outfit was anything out of the ordinary, either; sure, maybe he had never worn pants quite this tight in a while, maybe he'd left a button undone by mistake.

But it wasn't scandalous. "You're weird," he snapped, and then started to head out the door.

Roy caught his metal arm - Ed knew he only ever did that if he was _really _pissed off, and trying to hide it. If Roy ever felt like he might lose control, he would go for limbs that could feel no pain. "You're not going out like that."

Ed jerked away, irritated beyond what was necessary. "Why are you making such a thing out of this? It's not like people know we're _dating _and even if they did, you sound like an asshole right now." He glared up at him, unyielding, but finally just groaned and ran his hand through the tangles of his hair. "Fine. I'll go change, _dad_."

* * *

><p>General Hakuro was a well-respected man. He surrounded himself with evidence of the fact.<p>

Portraits of liaisons with emperors, debates with great leaders of foreign lands, and banquets with the Fuhrer littered the oak paneled walls of his private quarters. He collected trinkets, pieces of gold and silver, from the pretty women he could coerce into bed while abroad. Once he showed them the gold stars and the badges on the uniform, they were either impressed or intimidated enough to follow him into dark spaces.

There was nothing like the passion of sex during cannon-fire.

He was not always successful, though. Oh, no. There were spots on his pristine record; imperfections among the decorum and etiquette. Liore was one such embarrassment, one which should have been dealt with by a professional in PR. He had not hired one, because he hadn't thought he had needed to.

The public was more sympathetic to the poor-complexioned than he thought. They were upset at the rumors of massacre, of fraud and rape and child kidnapping.

The general had dismissed all of those claims, of course, but not before they had besmirched his good name. The people believed him, for the most part, but there were those usurpers and upstarts who declared him an archangel of indecency. A war criminal, unfit for the prestige he had garnered.

Colonel Mustang, for example, had been manipulating the courts involved, urging them to go back and reexamine witness accounts. Surely, not all of the victims had recanted? And if so, did that not indicate foul play?

It made the general particularly _angry. _It kept him up at night as he paced his bedroom, as he ignored his wife's pitying calls to come back to sleep. "Just come back to sleep. The people will see reason." That's what he was afraid of, honestly - afraid that they would dismiss the paternal image he had worked so hard to establish as genuine, when all it really did was disguise the frightened, miserable, greedy man beneath.

No. He was a _good_ man. He was.

He had done some truly terrible things, yes, but war did that to people. Even Mustang must have taken advantage of his prey before slaughtering them. Yes. Hakuro smiled pleasantly, the sweat of stress and fantasy pooling on his lip. Mustang had satisfied his tastes in the foulest, most carnal ways. Burning the civilians and his degrading lust along with them. He had poisoned the well and criticized other men for telling the people to drink it.

Indeed. Why, Hakuro knew - by truth of his own eyes - that the colonel had been forcing himself on his former major for at least a month now. He had witnessed it. Followed them home, on a drunken, jealous whim. He had intended to kill Mustang - he didn't remember quite why - but then had frozen solid, his breath fogging up the cool air of winter's purgatory.

He had watched them. And he had hated them for it. What use of your weapon, young colonel. What degradation, to force him between your legs and beneath your lips, foul and imperfect. Men shouldn't do such things. It ravaged them. Devoured their souls.

No matter. Hakuro had a weapon of his own, now. He was a charming, quiet, and obedient soldier, something the military could scarcely find these days: an alchemist just like Mustang's precious pet. Certainly, Atrophy was not as young, as fair, or as naturally gifted as Edward Elric, but that was a high standard, and the general was a sympathetic man. What Atrophy lacked in aesthetic appeal, he gained in brute strength and alchemical power.

But Hakuro was never satisfied.

Not with the gold, the girls, or the guns. Not with Atrophy. He was always thirsting for more, like a man who had never tasted the glorious purity of cold water. He wanted what Mustang had. The charm, the magical facade of innocence, and the luxury of having someone truly _beautiful _to order around, to coerce, to claim, and to treat as he saw fit. He knew what he wanted, but would not put a name to it. He had a little daughter. He had expectations for himself. He would not sink to that level.

Even if he was already planning to. (Smoke a cigar; rake the fingers over the face, a chalice of wine, repeat.)

He had a feeling - and confirmed this feeling as fact through the use of holding a certain picture near - that the boy's eyes would positively glow in the dark (against the dark) of black lace.

* * *

><p>Now that Alphonse was back to normal, and quite happy as Winry's fiancé, Ed was no longer obligated to stay in the military. According to official papers, he was a civilian, but they had let him keep the pocket watch ("As a souvenir,") and his library privileges, as well as full access to certain laboratories. Dually exposing the corrupt former fuhrer had done wonders for him and Mustang, though the higher-ups were wary about giving Roy any more power.<p>

There were whispers that he had become too dangerous.

That was just ridiculous, Ed thought as he perused a section of Central's library he hadn't yet studied. Mustang was incredibly dangerous, both physically and intellectually. That was true. Hell, they had managed to attempt murder in their sleep several times already, and it wasn't entirely unexpected for Ed to wake up pinned to the floor with something on fire and his own blade against his lover's throat.

However, Mustang had _always_ been dangerous, and a coup d'état did not change that. Killing a few homunculi didn't change that. He suspected that the brass realized, too late, just how hot a wire the Flame Colonel could be. Beneath the uplifting speeches and alchemic feats, Roy was an uncontrollable force, as unpredictable as a wildfire and just as potent when it came to multiplicity. He could rally a small army in a matter of moments, and the upper generals did not want Fuhrer Bradley's regime to be completely eliminated.

For now, Ed was fine with keeping to the shadows. He didn't know what the future would bring, and as he was accustomed, thought in the short-term rather than the vague shadows of the long-term. Alphonse's imminent wedding was the most certain thing in his life, and it was also the safest. Roy predicted that, sometime soon, _someone _was going to try and hire a hit on his life, and the aftermath would be quick and cutthroat. If he was lucky, he would be fuhrer by next September.

But if not? Ed didn't want to think about that.

"You often stop in here, Fullmetal?"

Ed almost dropped the damn book he held, but was quick to catch himself, getting a firmer grip on the ancient tome before he was faced with a four-figure fine. When he whirled around to face the intrusion, cold shock flooded his veins. He hadn't seen General Hakuro this closely in half a decade, and given the current state of things, he was sure the man's sudden idle conversation meant nothing but trouble.

He wouldn't have recognized the general at all, if not for the rugged brown eyes deep set in his skull. Edward remembered them from the train incident years ago. They had been strained with pain and flecks of blood, and then warmed into paternal love as he held his daughter's hand from the confines of a hospital bed. Now, the scars and scratches of war, as well as the lines of time, dimmed his features.

"Sir - I - yeah, I do. I come in here for research," he lied, knowing that he had conquered whatever frontiers the library could offer years ago. It was just a quiet, familiar place that smelled of paper, perfect meditation for an alchemist with too much intrigue on his mind. "Can I help you with anything?"

Years ago, Ed had taught himself to detect the subtleties of behavior in speech. This wasn't kindness. The man had an agenda, though he didn't seem to be a threat.

Hakuro smiled, close-lipped and genuine. Rays of sunlight caught the dust off his broad shoulders. "I was hoping to have a little bit of a chat with you. You have no obligation to, of course, but it would probably be in your best interests. You understand."

Ed kept his eyes on the man's face as he put the book back on the shelf where it belonged. He sheltered his hands in his pockets, and planted his feet on the carpet. Suspicion grew like a frail weed in his mind, easily displaced but choking in its intensity. If this had anything to do with Roy - why else would a military CO bother talking to a former officer? - there were more risks than one.

Even if Ed was no longer bound by fraternization laws, Roy had made it crystal clear how important it was to keep their relationship a secret in this political climate. They were already considered friends, a dangerous enough assumption. But if an ill-willed higher-up discovered the true nature of their involvement, Roy reiterated frequently, it would put Ed in their line of sight. Ordinarily, that wouldn't bother either of them, but Ed knew that there was a risk he could be used as a weapon against the man he loved: as a hostage or an unwilling killer.

He would never tolerate that.

"What did you want to discuss?" Ed asked, paying close attention to Hakuro. "Then I'll decide if it's in my 'best interests,' or not."

The general chuckled. "Straight to the point, eh? I like that," he said, and then his expression morphed into one harder and more serious. "There have been some discrepancies in your history, Elric. A few weeks ago you resigned, I understand. With such talent and promise, well - you can see why I would be curious."

Ed shrugged, unsure why the man had such a profound interest. As far as he was concerned, no generals had ever so much as associated with him. Perhaps they were just looking to recruit him again, and under them exclusively rather than Mustang. He'd gotten a lot of transfer requests in his childhood. "I was in it for the money," he said. "My brother was sick, but he's better now. I don't care about the rank or the privilege like you guys do." It was a half-truth.

"I see," Hakuro said, and the false-smile was back in position. "It's unfortunate. You would have been a fine soldier, young man, tempestuous and idolized. Tell me, where are you staying now? Your brother has returned to your hometown, is that correct?"

Ed stiffened, subtly. Yes, that was correct, but it wasn't broadcasted information. The only way Hakuro or anyone unconnected could have known was through eavesdropping or legitimate concern, and Ed doubted this acquaintance had ever cared about his well-being. Nonetheless, he nodded. "I've got a small apartment." Was usually empty, unless Roy stayed the night. "I'm doing fine though, thank you."

"You're still an important part of this regime, Elric, make no mistake. We may not have any handle on you anymore, but that doesn't mean we don't care." He clasped his hands behind his back, his posture righting itself into one more domineering and official. "Though, that isn't exclusively why I'm here. There's a matter of more private persuasion that needs to be discussed."

"Private?" Ed asked, questioning the man's intentions. It was one of Roy's temporary rules - don't go with anyone alone, especially brass or people you don't know. It was embarrassing to be treated like a child, but Ed understood the vitality - in a detached way.

Sometimes he wanted to rebel.

Hakuro made an affirming noise in his throat. "I know it's rather late, nearly seven in the evening." So it was. Time flies. "But if it's alright with you, perhaps we could talk as I drove you home? There's no need to be intimidated, I assure you. Just a friendly chat."

Ed wasn't sure how he could refuse. He had saved the man's life, and knew he probably wasn't dangerous. When it came to matters of life and death, bonds of trust were usually made. The general was in all likelihood just going to ask for some dirt on Mustang, and he had dealt with that sort of interrogation before. He would lie if he had to, and tell the truth when he could.

"Can we - I mean, is it possible we can talk tomorrow?" He wanted Roy's input. The man could discern if other people were trustworthy or not, and if he construed Hakuro as a threat, would formulate a plan to help Ed avoid him. If nothing else, Ed could go to Resembool and wait it out until he was no longer considered important enough to tail.

Hakuro just sighed. "It's no skin off my back, major. I insist! The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can be home and safe in bed, eh? Quite cold out. I'm looking forward to being warm under the covers myself." He bade for Ed to follow him, and started walking so that he could not protest.

Ed wasn't sure what to do, but his feet started moving on their own. Logic dictated he find a way to come in contact with Mustang before he did anything else, but it was seven o'clock and Roy would probably already be heading out of the office. The man usually waited for him so that they could walk home together, but he never became concerned if Ed didn't show. He just assumed, rightly, that Ed was reading late and wanted to be left alone.

This was not one of those times.

The walk to the general's car was a quiet one, interrupted only by the respectful salutes of passing soldiers. A light drizzle fogged the parking lot, and it was being cruel to Ed's hair, tangling it and making it frizz from moisture. He wasn't overly concerned with his appearance, but it was uncomfortable to have a sopping mess of hair attached to your head on cold nights.

He would have cut it off, but Roy forbade him from doing so.

When they reached the car, Hakuro opened the door for him. Ed gave him a funny look and hoped it conveyed his meaning properly. It was a weird thing to do, especially for a man whose rank implied he shouldn't have done it. Ed shuffled into the warm leather seat, buckled his seat-belt, and waited for the inevitable.

He had assumed that Hakuro would have a driver. Maybe he did. Maybe the subject of their conversation was so private, the servant had been dismissed.

"Lucky for you," the general said in a friendly tone as he turned his key in the ignition, "this automobile has a heating unit. Should keep you from freezing." He smiled warmly, and they drove, in relative silence, out of the compound and into the wet grimy streets of Central. The car rumbled, but the ride was smooth in its luxury. "I hope you don't mind. We may be taking a little detour."

"Detour?" Ed inquired, realizing that the man hadn't even asked for his address yet. The weed of suspicion was slowly choking off all other pure thoughts. "I don't understand."

Hakuro turned on the radio, and jazz music emitted from the speakers. The general was attempting to slow his heart, keep him calm. This was an interrogation, but a pleasant one. "I have a few questions concerning your former commanding officer, Colonel Mustang," he began, occasionally glancing from the road to the side of Ed's head. "There are rumors going around, you know."

The blood drained from Ed's face. He felt it pooling in the pads of his toes, as effectively as corpse drainage. "Rumors?" he repeated, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible. Rumors about him and Mustang could mean anything. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm smarter than you think I am," Hakuro said slowly, "and there's not a lot you can hide from me that I don't already know. The way I see it, and the way Fuhrer Grumman sees it, you and Mustang are not as antagonistic towards each other as you might appear." The car splashed through glittering, dark puddles. "Is that true?"

Ed thought carefully about his words. "We're not enemies," he said, "but we're not friends. Not really. It's a Christmas-card relationship. How's your health, and all that." He shifted lower in his seat, listening to the tap of rain on the roof. The scrub of wipers on the windshield. A clap of roiling thunder that turned his stomach.

"I think you're lying." The wiper blades flipped past.

"I'm not lying," Ed said, directly looking into the man's brown eyes as the car came to a traffic stop. Hakuro let go of the steering wheel, but said nothing, waiting for more discourse. "We trust each other hell of a lot more than most commanders and their subordinates, but I was ten when we met. It's not that weird for him to feel he's got an influence on me. Or vice-versa."

Let him think it's just paternal, Ed thought frantically. It's still closer than I want, but better than the alternative.

The light turned green, and Hakuro resumed the drive. Ed had no idea where they were going. They seemed to be retreating from downtown Central, where military headquarters sat, and towards the rural south. It was getting darker, and the unceasing rain only further blackened the picture. The jazz was no longer a happy pacifier, but a tune of foreboding.

"Are you sure that there's nothing else you want to tell me?" Hakuro asked, all traces of warm smile eradicated from his visage. He kept glancing at him. Ed wanted to tell him to keep his damn eyes on the road. "I understand that he's quite...sweet to you, lately. He accompanies you home, takes you for dinner, buys you things. I have to wonder what he's getting in return for such kindness."

Ed didn't know how pale he had gotten at that point. "If you're implying there's anything going on between me and _Mustang_..."

"Oh, I'm not 'implying' anything," Hakuro said calmly. "I'm being rather straightforward. I know that there's quite a few somethings going on between the two of you. Dangerous, illicit, disgusting somethings that I don't want to see you suffer through. You do realize that there is a profound difference between rape and sodomy cases?"

"You-"

"You could be a victim or an accomplice, Elric," Hakuro whispered, shadows playing on his face as they got further and further from concentrated light. He chuckled to himself, eyes twinkling from headlights. "Unless you want to protect him? Oh...I see. Either way, willing or unwilling, he's a criminal. You realize that, don't you? You realize what he's risking just by touching you?"

Ed shook off Hakuro as he reached for him, gritting his teeth. Rage and fear twisted his insides, like scalding and freezing water transmuted into one. The general knew, and Ed didn't know how but he had a pretty good idea he didn't want to. This was bad. This was really, really bad, and he wasn't used to solving really bad problems diplomatically or with his words. His instincts screamed for him to use his fist.

He wasn't the only one at risk, though. If it was just about him, he would have already knocked Hakuro unconscious, and dealt with the aftermath later. This was Roy. Yes, it was true; being gay itself was a crime in the country, though rarely persecuted. And if Roy was found guilty of it, he would never see the light of any rank again. He'd be dishonorably discharged and forgotten.

It took a while to find his voice. "What do you want?" he gritted out. "None of that shit is true. He thinks of me as his kid_. _That's sick, that's twisted, you know. You have any idea what he'd do if he heard you so much as suggest something like that?" There. A thinly-veiled threat. If Hakuro had evidence, it might be enough to throw him off out of fear. If Hakuro was blowing smoke out his ass, it might be enough to dissuade him.

They were in the warehouse district. The area was entirely empty. Some of the hulking buildings were abandoned, and some were used by the military. The shadow of the forest could be seen in the distance, a specter of moon hanging above the copse but hidden partially by clouds. They weren't exactly in the middle of nowhere. Civilization could be found, if necessary, but Ed was more concerned about why they were there in the first place.

"Where are we?" Ed demanded, trying to keep the shudder out of his voice. The only source of light was the moon through the trees. He was not afraid of Hakuro, but the man was powerful and he was not sure where he could run if things went wrong. Besides, the lingering stares were getting frequent. "General, what's going on?"

He didn't respond, just smiled at the rain. Ed jumped as a shadow flitted in front of the headlights, and leaned back in his seat, warily. The shadow dissolved into an approaching figure. Hakuro pressed a button, unlocking the rear door, but refrained from doing the same to the passenger door. He was keeping him contained. The jazz music was turned off.

A compact, muscular man ducked into the vehicle, exhaling a cloud of cool moisture in the cold air. When he was in, he slammed the door shut, and muttered something about melting black snow on the ground. "General," the man nodded at Hakuro in the rear view mirror. His face was weathered and middle-aged, half-hidden under a mess of black hair and beard. His eyes were wild from military experience. He had seen war, and knew how to kill.

"Atrophy, this is the Fullmetal Alchemist," Hakuro said, lighting up an expensive-smelling cigar. He indicated Ed with the glowing tip. "I'm sure you've heard of him."

"I've heard many things," the Atrophy Alchemist said with an air of false courtesy. He smiled lecherously, revealing molding teeth.

Ed felt the heat from the cigar on his face. He lowered his eyes, a trembling, nauseous feeling turning his stomach. "I haven't heard of you," he said, only half-apologetically. He did not know why Hakuro was suddenly driving half the army, but it was late and he was tired and he hated the way both men's eyes shifted in suspicious unison. They knew what he didn't. They were in on this.

The rain pelted the vehicle harder, melding into a chorus of white-noise.

"I'm quite envious of you, Fullmetal," Hakuro said, taking a deep drag on the cigar. His hands were shaking, and the smoke from his cigarette filled up the tiny car, making it reek. "You're brilliant, dangerous, almost unapproachable. My God, what a beautiful mind." The man looked up at him, as if seeing the sun after a thousand years underground. "Beautiful mind."

He flinched when fat, strong fingers grasped the back of his neck, a thumb sweeping the hollow of his throat. When he swallowed, he knew Hakuro could feel it. The man named Atrophy was considerably quiet.

"Sir," Ed stuttered, wishing again that he had thought to call Roy before following Hakuro, "what do you want?"

"You're lovely, you know," Hakuro whispered, right in his ear. Ed flinched away, not even aware of how close they had gotten in the shelter of heat. Ed's senses picked up flashes of danger, from the way the man was trembling to the caress of smoky breath against his face. But he couldn't move, couldn't understand what the warnings actually translated to.

Hakuro shifted closer, wary of sudden movement, and brushed a feathery touch to the blond's face. Ed closed his eyes against the feeling, barely a breeze of sensation but still convincing his stomach to broil unpleasantly. It wasn't what it felt like. He wasn't being _hurt_, so the adrenaline rush was just a neurological error. The blood pulsing through his veins was an illusion, a way to make him feel needlessly vulnerable.

"You've got soft eyes," the general murmured, a smile curling his lips before it fell into the same old frown. "It's strange. Everything about you is so hard and solid and fierce, but not your eyes. They're soft. I think you're the same way, deep down."

Ed turned his head, not liking to be observed and dissected, not liking to be touched. He realized he and Mustang had that in common. Confusion buzzed around him like a swarm of loud cicadas, ugly, brown, soiled and dark. The taste of bile and blood on his tongue was sweeter than the dripping sweat on his face.

"Have you ever slept with a man, Fullmetal?"

Ed gritted his teeth, staring into the dark abyss of night outside the window. The question had been phrased intentionally; Hakuro wanted him to pretend everything was okay. But nothing was okay. He was _not _okay. "No," he lied, flinching again when the man grasped his chin in one firm gesture.

Trembling was a disease, and it had begun to infect him. Ed mulled over the idea of running away from this nightmare, the dark car and the delirium and the smoke and the murky cloud of want in Hakuro's gaze. He contemplated words, spilling from his lips like vomit and tasting just as strongly. Confusion stemmed, and denial stemmed, from the unconscious idea that he wasn't desirable enough for this kind of predator.

He had two limbs made out of metal, for God's sake; his body was ripped apart, there was nothing there to _use. _

"We both know that's not true." Hakuro swept his thumb across the blond's lips, attempting to force it between them. Ed kept his teeth clenched, breathing hard. "Mustang has had you. Four, five years under his command and he still hasn't made a move? Inconceivable. Don't lie to me."

"What do you know? What have you seen?"

"You, on his bed, against a wall. Him. Inside you. Must be quite humbling for you, am I right? To be reduced to a simpering little mess every time he so much as touches you. Frankly, I'm jealous of him, Fullmetal. I want to be the one who makes you weak." His words ended on a hushed whisper, and he brought his face and his lips and his heat close, close enough to-

"Good luck with that," Ed growled, and then in a rush of pure adrenaline, armed his fist. He struck Hakuro in the jaw, bone on bone, and then struggled as hands immediately tugged his arms back behind the seat. "No!" He fought, writhing and twisting, while the alchemist in the back did his best to disable him. Atrophy folded his arms against the seat, wrapping tough, metal cord around them.

His hands couldn't even touch.

"Fuck, _fuck_, goddamn, it, general! Just tell him to let me go! Just let me go, damn it!" When his demands weren't met he gave into screaming, but a soiled, bitter hand closed over his mouth. He knew no one could hear him, especially now. The rain, the distance, they all would have worked together to drown out his screams.

Atrophy fingered the knots with his free hand. Ed twisted his arms, tried to find weakness, but there was nothing. This wasn't rope; this was far stronger. Like the stuff you'd use to tie furniture to a truck. For the first time, fear choked every other emotion, and he hated himself for falling for it.

"You shouldn't have hit me," Hakuro grumbled, low and dark. "I am a kind man. Gentle and honest. But if you _fuck _with me I'll _fuck _with you. No, don't try and speak. I'll let you talk in a minute. You fuck with me, I fuck with you. Remember that."

Atrophy slowly removed his hand, but Ed waited until he couldn't taste it before he dragged words out. "The fuck do you want from me?" he said for what rang like the hundredth time. He let cold and wet bleed out from his eye. "If you wanna fuck me, just try it. I'll rip your damn dick off and shove it so far up your ass it'll come out your-"

"Not in any position to be threatening the general," Atrophy smirked in his ear.

Ed flinched, but forced himself to continue. Forced his lips to speak the words he'd been trying to ignore. The isolation, the grime beneath Atrophy's fingernails, the stench of death and soil on the air. And the tension. The tension that something horrible was about to be committed. It all spoke of intentions too final to be innocent. "Are you going to kill me?"

They had the power to, and he knew it, but there were worse things than death. In his head, being used like _that_ was one of them. Roy would wanna kick his ass for thinking it. If Roy was here, he'd tell him his life was more important, that he should just let the general take what he wanted and then leave. Escape with breath in his lungs and a beat in his heart.

Hakuro smiled again, but he was breathing heavily. His eyes kept drifting to the glove box, where his daughter's pictures were probably stashed. He was getting off on this, but he was guilty about it; knew that it was wrong, hated himself, but was doing it anyway. Ed had seen it before in dozens of other people. That self-loathing.

"Show him what you do."

Atrophy released him, the bonds staying strong. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small mouse. It rummaged about in his hand, sniffling, the pink tail hanging off the edge of the palm. "Cute little thing, right?" he said, intoxicated.

Ed's fingers twitched. He noticed the tattoos on Atrophy's palms. Circles, in tattooed ink, simple but deadly.

The mouse shrieked. His body blistered and cackled, turning black, and he writhed around on Atrophy's palm, caught in a storm of energy. Its skin corroded off and dissolved, revealing blistering red innards. The smell of rot filled the small car, potent and disgusting, and the mouse's screams faded as his skeleton crunched into dust. Once it was well and truly dead, nothing more than grime, Atrophy brushed the soot from his palm.

Ed flinched and sobbed when the man reached forward and grabbed him, rot-covered hands holding his shoulders in place. He detected energy, the tingles of transmutation, but it wasn't active. It danced along his skin, demeaning to him in way he couldn't describe.

"He can kill you instantly," Hakuro said, holding a cloth over his nose and mouth to keep out the smell. Sick bastard. "You so much as blink and I will make sure that not only do you die, but that you're never found. Do you want to break Mustang's heart?"

Ed shook his head. He felt his face screwing up, the burn of tears, but his horror was too much to contain. "You son of a _bitch, _I'll kill you..." He cut himself off, crying quietly, as the alchemist brushed grimy hands across his body. Like he was a delicate object in a museum, needing to be caressed, touched, despite the forbidden mandates. Knuckles grazed his tear-stained face affectionately. Was this sympathy?

"You don't want to put the colonel through that, Fullmetal. He'd look for you. He'd drive himself mad, trying to find you, but he'll never know. Never know that you screamed or cried for him as you were turned into _nothing._" Hakuro's eyes shadowed in grief, in guilt, because _he _was nothing, and he felt bad for what he was considering.

"You don't want to do this," Ed said, hoping he could work his way out in a way that left him untouched and alive. "You don't want me. You're just sad, you're not in your right mind. You have your daughter. How would - how would you feel? Someone did this to her?"

Hakuro blinked.

"I was right," he whispered, looking briefly away. When his eyes swiveled back, they were mad, feverish with raw desire. "This fabric does suit your complexion. A suitable contrast, is not? You, so pure, so bright, against black lace. My precious little doll."


	2. Chapter 2

The house was as cold as a winter night, but Edward's trembling was the product of memory, not temperature. He stepped over the threshold, the key shaking in his gloved hand, and looked about the foyer with tired eyes. He had been expecting the light and warmth of a welcome home, but Roy's house appeared to be vacant. Ed knew, with a sinking feeling, that it was not the case.

The general and his deranged alchemist were watching from the running car, laughing and smoking cigars over light conversation. They called him a 'conquest.' Ed had been given just a few minutes for this task, and every moment was precious. Hakuro had made it perfectly clear just how quick and easy and quiet death could be when perpetrated by a single touch.

Ordinarily he might have lingered on the notion that a high-ranking general was openly threatening him with murder, but there were complications, and he knew it. For one, his life wasn't the only one at risk. He had only just discovered he could exist as a happy person, that he could be treated with affection–loved even, and now it could all be ripped from him in a painful pulse of alchemy. This was a small price to pay for Mustang's sake. The man deserved better than for Ed to be the key to his downfall.

His steps created a cacophony of noise, the floorboards moaning beneath his feet as if warped from years of damp decay. The scent of cold burn filled the air, like an icebox had been left open, and Ed stumbled along in the dark, not bothering to locate a lamp or light switch. Such luxuries were beyond him now. His emotions, usually such bright, vibrant things, had been muted into dull thrumming thoughts on the brim of his consciousness.

Moonlight bathed the soaked kitchen table, glinting off pools of what smelled like vodka and scotch. It had been poured in a hurry, the bottles left to roll off the table and shatter. Ed stepped nimbly over the pieces, boots crunching on bits too small to see. He might have been shocked, surprised, horrified at the scene he had come home to; but it was common, though never this disorganized. Roy had rushed to his sanctuary, for whatever reason.

He swallowed, and found his voice buried somewhere deep inside him. "Roy?" he called out into the blackness, listening intently. There was nothing, no voice, no clinking of glasses or the thud of a drunken body. He felt his way through the rest of the small manor, palms to the wall, and finally found the colonel's bedroom door: ajar, with a sliver of pale yellow light falling on hardwood.

And the room was empty.

Edward's brow furrowed in confusion. He had been through the entire house and the guest bedrooms were never touched, neglected from lack of company, so there was no point in looking there. And if the man was in the bathroom he would have heard the retching. When Roy Mustang took to his drinking binges, his pattern of behavior was predictable, and Ed knew all of his hiding places.

Something closed tight around his wrist, but before he could react, bitterness filled his mouth and he was pressed against a wall. Muffled protest died into a gentle sort of moan, and he wrapped his arms around his lover's neck, hoping that by squeezing tightly enough he could pretend he had never been touched by anyone else. He could fantasize that this temporary sanctuary was not just an inevitable stepping stone into Hakuro's apathetic grasp, his cold hands that lingered and shook.

Roy, intoxicated and clumsy in his movements, didn't seem to know where he was. His palms swept Ed's body in caress after caress, as if he thought the blond might slip through his hands like sand or air. It was half a dream, perpetuated by atmosphere and dull consciousness, and one that Ed encouraged by returning the kiss, returning the touch, returning every ounce of lust and sadness.

He felt a thumb sweep his hair innocently, and it made him want to collapse into himself like a dark mass no light could escape. Tender and warm, not lecherous and pervasive.

The colonel released him to take a breath of air, and then pulled him into a tight embrace, not seeming to realize how strong he held him. Ed did nothing for a long while, letting Roy lean on him, and then realized in the quiet that the man had tears leaking from dark eyes. Tears he probably didn't know he was shedding, tears that were the only exuded memories of Ishbal, of war, of fire.

Ed ran newly-flesh fingers through black hair, soothing him without words, breathing in his strong scent infected by the stench of alcohol and depression. Of all nights, why now? He needed Roy's comprehension. He needed his colonel, he needed the man who could think clearly, who could read the signs of fatigue, who would be able to help him out of this dark rut in which he found himself. Instead Roy was the one in need of assistance, and Ed cared for him too much to refuse that.

"How far gone are you?" Ed asked, more to himself than to the dark-haired man who blinked, lazily and incoherently, back at him. Roy's eyes were red and raw from crying, the deadened brain behind it too fuzzy to string together even an intelligible thought, let alone words. Ed had been afraid of that. "Come on, idiot."

He led him to the bed, supporting him with his lesser weight as the man stumbled and tripped along. He threw back the blankets and comforter and lulled Roy into the warm bed, stripping him of his shoes and belt without the man's notice. Once the covers were pulled up to the his shoulders, Roy rested his head on the pillow, facing Ed, and let his eyes slip closed.

Ed knelt down beside the bed, his stomach trembling violently. He didn't want Roy to fall asleep because if he did Ed would be completely isolated, defenseless and left to those perverted _fucks _outside. Not that Roy was in any state to help anyone, let alone protect Ed against clearly sexual threat.

He clamped the thought down hard, physically wincing at the implications. He folded his arms on the bed and dropped his head in them, shaking as he attempted to displace himself from the situation entirely. It felt like he was imprisoned in a nightmare, with nowhere to run and no one to talk to but his own screaming perception. He could feel Hakuro's lips on him, his hands, his tongue, his grinding crotch–

He wanted to pretend none of it had ever happened, those sickening touches that hadn't stopped until he had been dropped off here–the final blow to a wounded bird. He supposed he was the bird and he needed a new cage. That was the purpose of this visit, wasn't it? He was Hakuro's possession now, and he needed to be hidden away.

Ed brushed his hair behind his ear, biting his lip. "Roy," he started quietly, hopelessness blooming in his chest when the man showed no response. He closed his eyes, muscles clenching firmly while he bit back frustration. "Roy, please. I have to tell you something. And I'm not sure how to say it. I need to leave you. Don't ask why. All you need to know is that tomorrow I won't be here."

Roy, in his catatonic state, managed to snag Edward's arm and tug it alongside him like a pillow. He rested his head on it, dark hair feathering against the fabric. Edward could feel his breath on his skin, and it sent vulnerable shivers throughout his entire body. He wanted to bury himself beneath the blankets with Roy, let the man drunkenly hold him and stroke his hair until he fell asleep; he didn't want to be dragged into the dark night. Unattended.

He bit his lip. He could call someone. He could–no. Alphonse and Winry had nothing to do with this, and by the time help arrived, he and Roy could be dead and disintegrated, nothing left of them to find. The same went for Hawkeye, Jean: innocents that he would only be dragging into death and decay. They wouldn't stand a chance. He was selfish to even consider it. What was a little sex?

Nothing. Just sex.

He kissed Roy's wrist tenderly, letting his lips linger longer than needed. The smell of cologne helped dilute the foul stench of rodent corpse. "I hate you," he whispered, frustrated that just when he was ready to admit the truth, the man had clocked out on him. This was how their relationship was, after all. A series of sexual opportunities, a pattern of drunken nights, and threats of violence that never came to fruition.

In the end, Ed just decided to write a note. Short, to the point: _I came home. You were drunk. I'm leaving you. Please don't look for me. I'm sorry. _

He stopped his frantic writing, looking back to the sleeping colonel on the bed, and then added a few more choice words to the note. He wasn't even sure if he wanted it to contain a hidden message, a secretive plea for help or forgiveness. In the end he decided against it, knowing that whatever Roy felt in the morning would dilute the message to a meaningless scramble.

He packed his duffel bag before he left the house, and the weight of it seemed to make the sound of his feet crunching on gravel all the more potent. He could practically feel the dark, bruising circles beneath his eyes, signs of fatigue and stress and terror. When he entered the car, all was quiet; Atrophy had taken the wheel, and Hakuro waited in the back seat, brown eyes lighting up when he saw his _conquest_.

"I'm not going to pretend otherwise," Hakuro said, absently running his fingers through the blond's hair without a single token of permission. "I intend to sleep with you while you stay with me."

Ed said nothing, letting the rumble of the car drown out his thoughts. He had attempted to sit as far away from the general as possible, but that stupid plan had been obliterated when Hakuro simply shifted nearer. He was pressing up against him, pushing him tight between his body and the cold frame of the door and window, and it took all of Ed's determination to gaze out with an unperturbed expression. Inside his guts had liquefied.

Hakuro took a drag on his cigar, the bright orange tip the only light in the dark car. "I will be gentle with you," he said in what was meant to be a reassuring voice. Ed flinched as the man caressed his face, petted him down, grazed his cheek with rough knuckles. "So very gentle. I will treat you carefully, just as your beauty deserves."

There he went again, treating him like nothing more than a toy, a pet, a doll to be dressed up and coddled and tucked away behind glass. It jarred violently with the image of himself he thought had been accurate only a few hours ago. He didn't see himself as anything that could be remotely described as attractive, let alone this idealized _thing _Hakuro insisted was the truth.

But it couldn't have all been in Hakuro's head. From the way Atrophy looked at him, mossy smile and burrowed eyes, he knew that he couldn't have been undesirable. Or maybe the deconstruction alchemist just took what was given to him, pawed at whatever bone Hakuro threw him.

Which led to another sick, sick thought: throughout the evening, the orchestration of events, the unspoken dialogue between master and servant–it all spoke of a script, of a repeated chain of circumstances, and Ed suspected that this was something they had done before. The question was, to who, and where the fuck where they now? It was enough to make him want to vomit.

After a long, petrifying drive through Central's streets, they arrived in a gated community of large mansions. Each house was dark and hidden away behind swaths of trees and black gates, menacing in their austere bulk. It was a neighborhood that stank of old money. The Gothic architecture, the dimmed lights, the black cars, the neat and empty lawns–it was a quiet, somber place for the rich, the old, and the inbred to live in decadence.

Hakuro finally stopped touching him, and Ed relaxed enough to breathe.

"Take him to his room, Atrophy," the general commanded, opening a black umbrella as his alchemist opened the car door for him. The rain had stopped, but a cloaking mist still covered the grounds and moistened the air. "Keep him quiet. I don't think he'll be any trouble, but I don't want to disturb anyone else's rest. I give you permission to bind him if he resists."

"Yes, sir," the foul-smelling ape of a man said back, shutting the door after his superior began the short path to the mansion. He went around to the other side, opening Ed's door in turn, but the blond had lost all ability to move as he watched General Hakuro enter his mansion as if he had just returned from work, not a kidnapping. "Come along. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can put that pretty head to sleep."

Ed flinched, glaring at the pattern of rain droplets on the windshield. "How long is that mother fucker planning on keeping me locked up here like some goddamn concubine?" he asked bitterly, gathering the resolve to stare Atrophy in his misshapen, lumpy face. "Or am I asking the wrong question?"

"I wouldn't worry," Atrophy said sympathetically, though his acting skills might have seen better days. Edward saw through the kindness, and behind the thin sheet of sickly sweet tenderness, there was nothing but lust and sadism. He was trying to lull him into a sense of safety to make the pain that much more bitter. "You're not disposable. He would rather keep you alive; it would be terribly difficult for him to get away with killing you."

Ed got out of the car, groaning as his weak legs adjusted to standing. "But?"

Atrophy smirked. "But he'd be willing to, if it meant keeping you quiet. It's what I love most about the dead, sweetheart: no more screams. They're silent, they're beautiful, they're at peace. They can't tell anyone what you did to them." He gave Ed a gentle shove towards the mansion, jerking his head a bit towards the eastern side. "We're going in through a side passage. He doesn't want you in the family quarters."

Ed snorted. He couldn't help it. The strange, toxic mix of criminal and domestic was too much for him to bear. If he weren't scared out of his goddamn mind, he might have found the situation humorous, but as it was he just hoped he would make it out alive. And if not that, please god, let there be a body to give his family some closure.

Alphonse was just back in the flesh, damn it; what would it do to him if Edward were to just disappear without a trace? Somehow, the notion that Alphonse would eventually forget him (the shade of his hair, the timbre of his voice, the subtle ways he presented himself) scarred him as deeply as any blade. And Roy–goddamn, what would Mustang do? Would he feel guilty, would he look for him, would he care? Or would he move on, find a woman, find a normal relationship and dedicate a quiet memorial to him: his first act as Fuhrer.

Ed hunkered down in the cold, trying to distract himself from such dark, self-pitying thoughts. He was safe, for now, and the promise of sleep drew him in despite his desperate attempts to keep from falling for any pretense of security. So long as he obeyed, he would survive.

He was shuffled into a small wooden door at the side of the mansion, near what appeared to be an abandoned and overgrown greenhouse. Rusted garden tools lay in disarray, but before he could properly study what appeared to be fresh dirt on a decent sized shovel, he was pushed into the dim light of a dank passageway. Servants' quarters, though they didn't appear to have been used in decades.

"Down the hall."

It wasn't an instruction, a friendly indication of which way to go; it was a demand, and when Ed didn't follow it immediately, Atrophy shoved him hard into the consuming darkness, making the blond want to react and hit him. He didn't, of course, because he didn't want to die, but he was tired of being manhandled and abused.

He shot the alchemist a dirty look and carried on down the corridor, away from the warm light of a small wall lamp and into windowless darkness. It smelled musty and dank, and he could hear rodents in the walls and along the floor. He drew into himself automatically, sensitive to the air as if it was swarming with invisible gnats, and clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

They came to another door. This was smaller still, and Ed hesitated when he saw the padlock. He eyed the alchemist warily as Atrophy unlocked the door and swung it open, revealing a closet of a room that contained nothing more but a springy bed frame and a mattress.

"Get in."

Ed blinked. "It's dark."

"You'll prefer the darkness," Atrophy said in a chilling tone. "Trust me. Better not to see what happens down here, or your sleep will be sacrificed."

Edward shuddered, obediently going and sitting down on the lumpy, threadbare mattress. From the dim light that shone from the corridor, he could see stains of every shape and color, but he didn't think about their origins or who had left them. "Don't you have a name?" Ed asked, laying his hands in his lap as he patiently waited to be left alone with his thoughts. "Or am I going to have to keep thinking of you by your title?"

"A title's as good as any name," Atrophy said. "At least in some way, I chose it. I chose my craft, I learned its secrets, and now it's what I'm called. It's flattering, really, to know how to take something so pure..." His voice hushed, and his eyes glittered in his skull. Ed was suddenly very conscious of his body, trapped there in the space, vulnerable and unprotected. He almost wished for Hakuro's presence. "...and ruin it."

Ed remained completely still as the heavy door was slammed in his face. Its windy draft blew his hair back as he heard the padlock click, and he was left alone in utter blackness. Not even hairline cracks beneath the door could let in any light that mattered, but a tiny keyhole was like a bright pinprick that dully glowed. He frowned, shivering slightly, as he saw a brown eye blinking back at him from the keyhole before disappearing.

He didn't know if the alchemist ever left or not. He never heard footsteps, but from what he could garner, this small room was mostly soundproof. Only the skitter of insects and rats could be heard, above his head and in the walls and on the floor. The man had been right. He didn't want any more light. It was bad enough that he could hear.

He laid down on the bed, head resting on his arm. He felt something cold and wet slip down his face, but he ignored it and every tear afterward, too engrossed in his situation and the slice of cold air on his skin. If he was still enough, he could pretend the wall pressed against his back was Roy's warm, breathing form. And after a long while, when the tears had dried up and fatigue pulled at his consciousness, he smiled.

He wasn't weak. He wasn't _weak_. This...situation simply required a different sort of strength. And for Roy's sake he would endure, even if his efforts would come to nothing. There was no other option. He would no longer be a burden; his actions would no longer take lives as consequence.

* * *

><p>Seven in the morning and Maes was back at the office, scouring through page after page of unidentified corpses. Normally the military police wouldn't have been called in, and the deaths would have been ruled what they appeared to be: accidental. But the fact that they were all young teenagers from mostly ethnic backgrounds was a detail too coincidental to ignore. The notion that they were non-registered aliens specifically indicated that, if anyone had killed them, they had been selected precisely for that reason.<p>

It made it impossible to discern who they were or where they had come from. Missing persons reports came in every day, but none of those teenagers matched the descriptions of bodies found. Even more frustrating, Maes knew that many parents and relatives of the dead teenagers would never come forward, afraid of being deported back to their home countries.

The whole case was a mess. A bizarre, grotesque mess.

When his phone rang, Maes answered tiredly. He was in no mood for his usual cheerful disposition. When Roy Mustang answered back in an equally exhausted and stressed tone, he forced himself to reawaken his senses. It wasn't often that Roy was so forward with his vulnerability. He was hungover and broken, from the sound of it. One too many drinks again.

"Maes," Roy rasped, his voice cracking, "do you have any idea where Ed is?"

The lieutenant frowned, and then checked the office to ensure privacy. This wasn't a matter of national security–not yet, anyway–but his friend's relationship with Edward was critically private. And for good reason. Once he was certain no one was around to eavesdrop, and confident in his own secure telephone lines, he responded to the question. "I haven't heard anything from him. Why? Did something happen?"

Roy hesitated, and when he spoke his voice was strained. "I did some really stupid things yesterday."

Maes' eyes widened. The obvious hangover, the worry, Ed's disappearance. A strong, protective emotion welled up in the lieutenant. He trusted Roy with his life, but he had always been wary about letting him pursue anything with the older Elric. This was why. He considered the teenager something like his son. "What did you do?" he demanded, trying not to let assumptions rule his response.

Roy had expressed concerns over his behavior while intoxicated before; he admitted he had very little control over himself, and could never remember events in detail. Maes had always brushed those concerns off, thinking that perhaps Ed's presence would be a positive influence. The nagging thought that he could become a victim of it had never sunk in. And now it seemed the most obvious answer.

"I don't know," Roy said frantically. "I came home from work yesterday alone. Ed wasn't waiting for me as he usually does. He was probably mad at me, some stupid dispute that morning. My fault, of course. Anyway, I had a few drinks and the next thing I know it's six in the morning, my head's pounding, and he's left a note saying he's leaving me. And not to ask where."

Maes frowned, puzzled over the fact that Ed had withheld his destination, and troubled by the missing pieces in Roy's memory. Anything could have happened. "Have you tried calling Alphonse? Maybe Ed arranged to go to Resembool for a while."

"I can't worry them if he hasn't," Roy said decisively. "Besides, I don't want to be on the receiving end of Al's wrath. If he thinks I've hurt Ed even accidentally, he'll kill me."

Maes sighed, leaning forward in his chair. Roy's headache must have been particularly contagious, if it could breach phone lines. "Try to remember what happened last night. Did you do anything out of line?"

"I...I remember kissing him at one point," Roy admitted. "But he didn't resist. And I swear, I _swear _I didn't hit him. I could never. I mean, it's fuzzy, but I would _remember_ that. Besides. I'm pretty sure that if I had hurt him, he would've hurt me back just as badly."

"You're probably right," Maes said, rubbing his forehead. "I'll try and make some calls to his contacts, see if anyone has seen him recently. I'll call the Rockbell house too. Even if he didn't tell them in advance, they should watch for him to show up later. I won't give any details beyond what's necessary until we know why he really left. Alright?"

"Okay. Thank you. I'm...I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. I'm not Edward."

He hung up, and then busied himself with his files. For a long time there was nothing, and the facts began to jumble together uselessly, a monotone voice in his head repeating them over and over until the information no longer struck a chord. Then a thought occurred to him, a whisper of suspicion; he held up one file, one victim's autopsy report. And frowned.

"Sheska," he said, calling the woman in the other room, "two days ago a Xingese couple reported a thirteen-year-old girl missing. Correct?"

He waited for her to refer to the missing person report, which took little more than a few minutes. All of the reports from the past six months were sitting in a box in the adjoining office for precisely this purpose. "Yes, sir. She went to school Friday and never returned home."

He smiled grimly at the autopsy report in his hand. "Come here and look at this for a minute." She came obediently, standing beside him. He indicated the autopsy, and the descriptions therein. "This matches her description. The report indicates the body to be that of a thirteen-year-old female, an even five feet tall, racial characteristics that of a southern Xingese."

Sheska's eyebrows furrowed. "Why is the corpse listed as unidentified? Why haven't they attempted to–"

"Because," Maes said, taking off his glasses. "This girl has been decomposing in a wet grave for approximately three months. She disappeared last week."

* * *

><p>Edward stared at himself in the mirror for what seemed like much longer than fifteen minutes. Everything about his appearance looked wrong, worn out, and abused. Bright gold eyes dimmed in comparison to the dark, sleeplessness-induced circles beneath them, and clean hair lay tangled about his head. He couldn't bring himself to braid it, to throw it in a ponytail, to do anything about it. He felt too vulnerable already for all that cold air.<p>

He raked a hand through his hair as he backed into the wall, staring at his reflection that stared, horrified, back at him. He didn't know what would happen when he walked outside the ornate bathroom door. He didn't know where he would go or what would happen once he got there. All he knew was that he was expected to have sex with General Hakuro, do whatever the man wanted, no matter what that might be.

He couldn't think past that. There was no way out. The thought that Roy would be killed was too jarring to ignore, and it wasn't as if he could kill the man responsible before it occurred. He wasn't sure if he could, and he hadn't the slightest ability to do so. Not anymore. He could only hope that Roy would be smart enough to figure out what was going on, and put a stop to it before Hakuro could realize what hit him.

A sharp knock on the door broke his thought processes, jarring him into striking his hip on the bathroom sink. The door flew open.

"The general requests your presence at breakfast," the Atrophy Alchemist said sternly, meeting his eyes without flinching. "He asks that you wear this." A bundle of clothes were placed on a small table. He stared at Ed a moment longer, eyes raking his frame as if he knew exactly what his master planned on doing to it, and then left without further word.

Ed blinked at what he had left behind, wondering what the meaning behind this strange new game was. He picked up the first garment in the stack, a white button-down shirt, and then perused through the rest. Together it appeared to be a formal waistcoat-and-trousers ensemble, and the thought that Hakuro had fitted them to his measurements made his skin crawl. It meant that the man had unrestricted access to his file.

He dressed quickly, neglecting to pull his hair up, before finally leaving the decadent bathroom and springing down the stairs to the darkened dining room where the Hakuro family sat in wait.

It was a somber affair, and Ed felt strange being there. It was like intruding on a funeral. Hakuro sat at the head of the table, glass of wine in hand, and his eyes lit up hungrily when he saw Ed; his wife avoided looking at anyone, appearing to be heavily interested in her food; and his daughter, dressed in sophistication despite her tender age of eleven, followed in her mother's footsteps. Atrophy sat to Hakuro's immediate right, and the women on the other side of the table.

"There he is now," Hakuro said, as if no one was aware of just what kind of situation was at hand. Ed suspected all four of them knew just what was going on–what Hakuro's intentions were–but could do nothing about it, and were too complacent to object. "Please have a seat, Fullmetal. Next to Atrophy," he smiled at his servant, "–would do."

Ed hesitated, scanning the dark shadows of faces in the harsh firelight, and then did as he was told. He sat down next to Atrophy, careful not to accidentally touch him or do anything implying he actually wanted to be there. Food had already been set on the table for him, but it didn't appear that anyone else had touched theirs except Hakuro, and he felt that if he ate he would throw up immediately afterward.

It was strange. It was breakfast time and yet he hadn't seen a smidgeon of daylight since he had been yanked out of bed that morning. The house's windows were covered in heavy drapery, and no one seemed to have any desire to amend the situation.

"Fullmetal's offered to give me some assistance with a few mission reports," Hakuro said, digging into steak and eggs with knife and fork. "Very kind of him, wouldn't you say?" He used his title even if it no longer held any meeting. He wanted to give this meal a professional edge. Was it torture?

His wife nodded. "Yes, dear. Very kind." The woman appeared far grayer than Ed remembered. On the train all those years ago he had known she had to be older than forty, but there was still an air of happy youth about her. Now all of that sunny disposition had dried up into something chalky and lifeless.

For at least five minutes, the only sound was the cackle of the fire and the clink of Hakuro's utensils. Atrophy sipped his wine, simultaneously eying Edward from the shadows. Ed wanted to tell him to keep his perverted gaze to himself, but he wasn't sure if he possessed a voice anymore. His stomach turned as he slowly realized what the end of this meal would lead to.

"Do you remember Edward, Samantha?" Hakuro asked the girl, indicating him as if he wasn't the only stranger in the room. "He saved us on the train years ago. Do you remember that, darling?"

Samantha fixed her father with a hard look impossible to pin, and nodded. "It's very generous of him to help us out when we already owe him our lives, father. Perhaps it's us that are greedy." She took a spiteful, smug bite of eggs, just to chew something. Ed realized she wanted to say more, but was too afraid to.

"Nonsense, Edward came to us of his own free will. Isn't that right?" Hakuro asked.

Ed turned to face him, wondering how he dared suggest such a thing. Right, free will. Free will had threatened his lover and his life and stolen him away for the purpose of some fucked-up game. "Yeah," he mumbled, trying to smile. It slipped off his face and he had to look away. "I'm just feeling charitable lately. Not much to do now that I'm no longer with the military."

A soft sound escaped him when he felt Atrophy's hand on his knee, hidden beneath the table. He closed his eyes, not even bothering to look at his face; he knew what he would find, a smirk or a leer. He wasn't going to give the sick piece of shit the satisfaction of knowing he had even noticed.

He blinked away his nausea, and then focused on Hakuro again. "I'm trying to find a new line of work, actually," he said, talking to distract himself. "There are a few companies that have come forward with research opportunities. Contractual obligations. But I want to stay here. I..." A breathy pant to his left made Ed pause, and he looked to the side, examining Atrophy. He was sweating; understandable in the heat, but the way he bit his lip...

Ed looked away quickly. He knew. The hand on his knee traveled upwards, but thankfully stopped before reaching anywhere that mattered. "I...I want to try and join the military again, eventually. If my previous CO allows it. Or wants it."

"I see," Hakuro said, taking another large bite of eggs. He talked with his mouth full, the words garbled and grotesque. "Would you ever consider working under me?" The raised eyebrow and sudden inhalation made Ed think it was a double entendre, and suddenly he felt a desperate need to throw up. Preferably all over Hakuro. See if that managed to turn him on.

Ed hesitated, swallowing thick disgust. "I thought I was," he said quietly. Two could play at that game. Just as he was celebrating that small victory, however, he felt Atrophy's hand tighten as the man's body tensed. Soundless. His hand eventually fell away, and the rest of the table continued the meal without indicating anything was wrong.

* * *

><p>"We need rules," Ed said, drinking a cup of cold tea in one of the loftier rooms of the Hakuro estate. There was still no hint of sunlight, not the slightest sliver between the curtains. The rest of the family had retired downstairs, and Atrophy stood outside the bedroom door in case Ed tried to resist or escape. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this unless...unless there's some kind of security. Principles I can depend on."<p>

"Rules?" Hakuro laughed, walking languidly around the stifling, rich atmosphere. Occasionally he would pose at the foot of the bed, near a statue, a portrait. He seemed to be showing off his mansion, his money, his status. As if Ed gave a damn. Was this his fucked up idea of courtship? Did he expect Ed to worship him due to his unearned luxuries? "Humor me. What sort of rules?"

He stared into his cup of tea, his reflection dark and frightened-looking. "You can't do anything weird. No...drugging me or tying me up or anything like that."

Hakuro laughed again. "My darling, what kind of man do you think I am?"

"I'm not sure. You threatened to kill me last night." Ed didn't bat any eyelashes. This situation couldn't be further from the idealistic hallucination Hakuro had cooked up. If he didn't insist on truth, he would fall victim to the lies. He feared actually caring for this despicable man. "Second, no one else. I'm not someone you can just pass around. So don't even fucking think about it." He thought of the alchemist just outside in the hall, his rough hands and callous words.

"Someone say something to you?"

"Atrophy," Ed said, shaking off the sickening scene at breakfast, "is under the impression that he'll be able to...I don't know how to word this. Finish what you started." God, even that phrasing made him shudder.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about him," Hakuro said dismissively. "It's true that I've promised him a touch or two for curiosity's sake, but taking you is out of the question. He knows he's not to do that. That is a privilege for me and me alone."

He cringed. "Finally. If I tell you to stop, you stop, no matter what."

"That is a detail I cannot promise," Hakuro said, eyes narrowing. "Regretfully. You understand."

"Then no."

"Then your boyfriend dies. And you with him. I might even make it look like a murder-suicide. Do you want him to be blamed for your death? Colonel Mustang, a few more skeletons in his closet than the public could have ever imagined. Oh, that poor boy, they'll say...killed in cold blood, by the very man who pledged his love."

"Fine," Ed said through gritted teeth, "don't stop, I don't care."

He shivered as hands twisted in his hair, as thick fingers removed the small rubber tie that held it all together. Tried not to fall on the ground, but his knees were getting weak and he felt a horrible kind of dizziness he had only ever experienced in the middle of a losing fight. This was its own kind of battle, but he couldn't even try to fight back.

"Don't be so frigid," Hakuro said carelessly, smirking as if he was enjoying the nervousness pouring off of Ed in waves. "You can always leave."

Sure.

He wasn't being tied down. Not really.

"It doesn't bother you?" he asked quietly, catching the scent of his own hair. Too sweet, too tempting; he shouldn't have washed it. Why had he _washed _it?

"Doesn't what bother me?"

"That the only other time you've spoken to me, I was eleven." He hoped that by referring to the past, he could make the man feel absolutely disgusted with himself. Let him remember that rouge train, the terrorists that had taken him hostage; let him remember that his rescuer had been nothing but a child.

Hakuro stopped, eyes chilled over. "Don't imply that I'm a worse man than I already am, Elric."

"On the contrary...you're an absolute saint," Ed said. Voice dripping with contempt. "Won't rape a child but you're perfectly willing to threaten me into your bed."

Hakuro chose to ignore that statement. He took the blond's face in his hands, gently, as if holding an object blown from glass. Their lips met. Wet. Lukewarm. Ed closed his eyes and tried to pretend it was someone else; anyone else. As stupid as it sounded, the general tasted old, and there was domination there, a possessiveness Roy wouldn't have ever attempted.

It was just a kiss. And he opened his mouth and let him in and let him feel. Let him moan. He turned his head when he needed to breathe, and Hakuro thankfully understood the cue. He let Ed take a few shallow breaths, ignore the aftertaste and wipe his mouth on his sleeve.

"You're so beautiful," the general said huskily, leaning in for another taste.

Ed turned his head again. "No, I'm not."

Hakuro thought that was funny and chuckled, turning the teen around so that the hard ridge of his clothed erection was pressed against his ass. Ed closed his eyes, nausea boiling in his stomach, the taste of acid in his mouth. This was for Roy. He was being (violated) (hurt) selfless for Roy.

"Such a naive little thing. No wonder he uses you."

"And I'm not a thing." Ed whimpered as Hakuro grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back painfully. Fear tore through his body, but he remembered the contract, remembered Hakuro was a man of his word. Honest. And gentle. There were rules he couldn't break.

"When you're with me, you are, and nothing's ever going to change that. Now get over there and take off your clothes. Do it slow for me." The words ended on a breath, and Ed heard the man moan in his ear, cock hard against the teen. He was panting, holding perfectly still, as if holding out. Ed hoped he wouldn't last. He could make him come early, on purpose. Maybe.

He eagerly left the sick embrace, walking over to where the fire could ease the spread of goose bumps. He could feel Hakuro's leer. He tried to imagine he was by himself; modesty was just an illusion, besides. A few layers of clothing meant absolutely nothing. So he peeled off his jacket. Slowly. Testing the waters.

He looked up, just once, to see if Hakuro was watching. He wasn't. He was completely entranced. It was as if Ed had some kind of power over him. Stupidly, Edward began to realize that he _did _have power. And even more disturbing was the idea that he could gain any number of favors, just by doing this, whatever this was.

Mustang enjoyed the feel of his skin, sure, but Ed had always assumed it was because they were so intimately aware of the other's intelligence. The arrays behind the lenses of a human iris. Maybe he had never looked in the right mirrors; maybe he was attractive enough on his own to warrant this sort of thing. Not that he particularly enjoyed it.

Once he had shed the last piece of clothing from his shivering body, he kicked the pile under a lounge chair, and then folded his arms across his chest for little else to do with them. Hakuro came to him, taking him in. Ed had to hold his breath when rough hands clutched his shoulders, palms sweeping down the ridge of his back.

"You're like a virgin."

"I'm not used to this," Ed responded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He struggled with his tongue when Hakuro permitted himself to slip a hand between the blond's legs, fingers brushing dangerously along the inside of his tanned thigh. He had _never _felt like a virgin before this. "Should I lie down?"

Hakuro nodded, taking him by the arm. It didn't quite hurt. The older man shoved him down on the bed, throwing the drapes aside before working at the buttons on his uniform. Ed was wary of every sound, every movement, every facial expression. Hakuro's coloring was dark, his pupils dilated, breaths fluttery and weak sounding.

For some unfathomable reason, Hakuro _wanted_ him. Badly.

So of course he drew back when the much heavier body threw itself on him. Panic rushed through his veins, but he willed it away, keeping calm even as kisses and nips turned into hard bites that left his skin dribbling red pearls of blood. Hakuro's hands shackled his wrists at either side of his head, as if the man was afraid he would try and leave.

Every moment was like the midst of heavy sobbing, but he wasn't shedding a single goddamn tear. They wouldn't come. He was numb to that, numb to this. He knew it was happening, and yet he clung to the indifferent. Was this shock?

Hakuro was doughy where Roy was muscular. His jaw was littered with stubble, mouth hard and fierce, and the smell of him (somewhere between cheap cologne and book dust) put him off. There was absolutely no room to pretend, and he refused to close his eyes, letting them dart around the room aimlessly.

He was being smothered. Unable to breathe, he had to take pains to get air; Hakuro took this for desire.

"You hot for me?" Hakuro whispered in his ear, tongue moist in the shell. "You're a dirty little slut, aren't you?"

Ed swallowed, biting back the retort bubbling in his throat. He just whimpered in response, ignoring the disgusting, hard ridge of the erection pressed against him. He filled his head with images of Roy, but nothing worked. Nothing worked at all. The last thing he wanted was to get turned on.

"I was going to just use your mouth," Hakuro said, panting. "But I want to see if your ass is as tight as rumors say."

"Rumors." The ceiling was painted with religious verandas.

Roy was careful with him and Roy had always made sure sex between them was carried out safely. Always asked if it hurt, had to make absolutely sure that Ed knew it was okay to stop. Hakuro was no stranger to homosexual relationships, but Ed (reluctantly) had to admit that he was relatively smaller in form than other males, and he was scared because Hakuro wouldn't care if he bled dry. He'd been hoping the general would just dry hump him and come early.

Before he could ask the question, Hakuro had reached over to a bedside table and produced a small amount of oil. Ed gasped when, without warning, Hakuro slipped his fingers inside him, feeling around. He bit down on his bottom lip. It didn't hurt as much as it could have, but he was tense and he didn't want it. Hakuro's goal was convenience, not making Ed feel any better.

Childishly, one thought remained. "Do you have condoms?" he asked softly, voice muffled by the body on top of his.

Hakuro looked confused. "That'd ruin the moment," he murmured.

So, despite all of the warnings that he should push the issue to avoid whatever fucked up diseases the general might have, Ed shut his mouth and stifled a sharp scream when Hakuro finally pushed his cock deep inside him. He started to panic, and he knew that was definitely the wrong thing to do.

"Wait," he heard himself say, earning an impatient glare from the general.

"What?" Hakuro asked, panting against the blond's lips.

Ed hid a pained wince; his body was tight from stress, and it was making the sensation of the general's hard dick inside him hard to ignore. What he lacked in length he made up for in girth, and although the man didn't seem a stranger to this kind of sexual activity, he hadn't anticipated just how fucking tight he was. "Go slow. Please."

Hakuro nodded. Kissed him gently. "You tell me if it's too much. I'm not stopping."

Ed conceded. Thought of Roy. Thought of blood smeared in raven hair. "Okay."

And then he was moving. Inside. Over. Ed squirmed, eyes closed so tight he thought they might bruise. Sounds that weren't quite screams, weren't quite whimpers of pain escaped his lips; it hurt, fuck it hurt, inside and outside. He didn't like being fucked (_hard_) by a general old enough to be his father, didn't like the fact that he loved Roy and was doing this for Roy and Roy didn't have a clue about any of it.

Didn't have a fucking clue that Ed was letting himself be reduced to this.

At one point he tried getting the general to stop, but his words were drowned out by grunts and moans and his own choked breaths. The whole thing lasted just a few minutes, but it seemed like hours of pain, pain, pain, thrust after thrust after –

"Fuck," Hakuro cursed in his ear as he came, not bothering to pull out before release. Roy did it, sometimes, but this was different because Ed did not want to have a reminder of this shit swimming around inside him. "Fuck, Elric. Not bad. Could have pretended you were more into it, of course."

"Just get off." His voice was weak and tremulous. When the man pulled out, it was fast and without warning. Ed's face screwed up and a sound like a shriek escaped him. "Be careful, damn it." He swallowed. He needed to leave. Go, go, go, before he broke down. "Where are my clothes at?"

Hakuro sighed, rubbing his hair back into place. "I kicked them over there somewhere. Do it quick. I don't want to end up explaining this to any of the help."

The help.

"Won't they get suspicious when they find come all over your bed sheets?" Ed asked, getting off the bed as fast as he was able to. He didn't bother looking for cloth to clean his body with; his body was still shaking and the sooner he had clothes on, the better. He could scrub himself down at home.

"Have you ever cried before?"

Ed stopped moving, perturbed by the odd affection in that question. "I'm a human being, of course I've fucking cried. Haven't you?"

"No," Hakuro said, eyes lowering in guilt. "Not in years. What makes you sad? What scares you?"

What the hell was this? A psychotherapy session? "People trying to kill me, I guess. But it's happened so much now I just stopped caring. I stopped being able to."

"I think you're more emotional than that," Hakuro said thoughtfully, a smile pulling at his whiskered lips. "I think you're afraid of being alone. Being rejected. To the point where you'll take anyone, any kind of affection, even if the person you're getting it from hurts you."

Ed said nothing.

"Is that true?"

"No," the blond said, grabbing his sweater from where Hakuro had thrown it on the floor. "It's not. Stop asking stupid fucking questions."

He was slipping on his leather pants, but his legs were still sticky from sweat and come. He didn't care. Forced them up his calves, his thighs, just wanting to be out of there, away from Hakuro. His eyes were being eaten alive by gnats.

"Could you ever love a man like me, Edward Elric?" Hakuro said from the bed.

Ed looked at him, clumsy fingers fastening his belt in place. The man was lounging, elbow on the bed, and head against his palm. Like he'd just conquered the world, was posing for a roomful of admirers instead of the teenager he'd just screwed. Ed didn't know how to answer the question. Forgotten he had the ability to speak. "No," he finally said.

But Hakuro smiled. "I want to hear you say it."

That made him freeze up completely, fingers clenched around the buckle. A large mirror stood in the dark room. He saw his reflection in it, harrowed by firelight, shaking and golden. Like he wasn't even there. Like he was a ghost. That thought made him shiver. He'd been murdered in this room.

He swallowed. "Say what?"

Hakuro thought that was funny. "That you love me. I want to hear you say it."

No. Never. He only said that to three people; one was dead; one was family; one was...

"I love you," he mumbled, almost to his own reflection. That was a morbidly comical thought, if only because he hated himself with every fiber of his existence.

"Say it like you mean it." The man's voice was dark, deep, infinite. Like the growl of a behemoth. Ed heard the whisper of skin on sheets, but he didn't look, because the sight might bring back recent memories.

"I love you," he repeated, slower this time.

"Look at me and say it again."

He started to feel impatient. He met Hakuro's eyes in the mirror. They were cold, brown, with laughter lines around the edges. Ed imagined him playing with his young daughter, in the creamy surroundings of his manor, hiding the man who fucked kids five years older. Then he saw himself. With his father. Except.

Oh, _fuck..._

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love...I love you."

Hakuro started to get himself out of the bed. "Again."

"I love you." It was becoming a mantra; the stinging in his eyes got worse and worse the more he had to say it. Finally he had to open his mouth to breathe, because all of the effort put into keeping his tears at bay was sucking his energy. Hakuro came to rest in front of him, smirking, and took Ed's face in his hands.

"Say it again."

Ed sobbed. "No."

"Please?" the man asked gently, thumb sweeping his hair.

"I love you." Just a whisper. But it said something else.

"Then kiss me."

And then he was crying and kissing Hakuro at the same time, but the older man didn't seem to give a damn; he moaned and twisted his head and dug his fingers into fair hair. Pressed him against the wall. Ed couldn't breathe, but when he tried to say something, the words were muffled by a tongue that wasn't his.

This close, Ed could finally smell the alcohol. Vodka. Scotch.

_"What is this?" _

_Held the empty bottle. Moonlight on the glass. _

_Slurred. "I'm so sorry." _

_Sobs. Dark head against his shoulder. _

_He could feel Roy's tears, like cold drops of rain. _

_On his neck. _

_"You don't have to be fucking sorry. Least you're not a violent drunk." _

_"How would you know?" _

_"Because this is eighty proof and you slam it until you're nearly unconscious."_


End file.
